Snarry Drabbles
by Hile
Summary: Varying Drabbley type stories, often different instances in the Snarry relationship. Ranging from delicious fluff to, well, you can guess. Ever Expanding. HIATUS.
1. Snape's Best Memory

Snarry Drabbles!

Warning: Slash.

Disclaimer: Yaddayaddayadda, so JKR is a genius, and all of the characters are hers, and I own nothing except for these far-fetched plots...

A/N: I made up something about fall holidays, since I desperately wanted the setting to take place in Autumn. It's pretty!

Oh yar...If anyone needs beta, I volunteer!

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1. Snape's Best Memory.

Brisk autumn winds rustled his billowing cloak, a sheet of dark hair covered a decent amount of his face, allowing a hooked nose and sallow skin to be observed. The sky was nearly reaching sunset, a swift movement into the twilight hour on the Fall day. The grass dewy, and the grounds empty, Severus found Hogwarts to be exquisitely beautiful. Eyes black as volcanic glass darted methodically left and right. This simple act of paranoia was something Severus Snape was accustomed to, his entire life riddles with instances that always caused him to discreetly evaluate his surroundings with a practiced Slytherin mask, whether it be to avoid being cused into oblivion, or rudely hoisted up by his ankles by that _ludicrous..._no. Severus didn't dwell on that incident, it would cause him to swell with painful emotion, rather annoyingly indescribable emotion not quite anger, or humiliation, rather a _yearning_. He couldn't be angry, not with the treat in which was to come.

Oddly, his gaze settled upon the large tree near the lake, where his wost memory had taken place, where James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and that insufferable Pettigrew sat and conversed in their tightly closed knit of company. The Gryffindors always looked so at ease, there, a familial, brotherly aura that projected warmth and contentment. James, always playing with the golden snitch, that little ball more than likely engraved with Potter's finger imprints. Sirius' black, shaggy head in Remus' lap as the sandy hair young man read, fingers absently grazing through Black's hair. Even then, Remus as always more mature, steaks of grey noticable even then at Hogwarts. And Pettigrew, a social outcast in general, even more than Snape himself, was always seemingly alone, especially in the company of the young men he always followed adoringly. Snape had envied their closeness, but by no means of his imagination were he ever to admit that to himself, as a Slytherin, his pride was displayed in a cool mask of superiority. He did not play silly Gryffindor games. A small grin settled peacefully onto his lips. It was comforting to know he wasn't so affected, that he could admit, even to himself, that he craved that warmth and not be ashamed.

He neared the tall tree, an orange glow settling on his pale skin as he stared into the dark branches, covered in warm colors of scarlet, gold, and yellow. Snape was not the one for artistic observation, gazing deeply at the departing leaves, but they held his interest.

That was a good thing for the green eyes glaring at him predatorily, for Harry Potter sat, perched upon thick branch five feet from the tall, dark figure. Harry's body was hidden in a mass of leaves, rough branches nicking his sweater, his legs, and his face, but it was worth it. With a small coo, issuing from his full lips, Harry lowered himself slightly, to be just above Snape's distracted head, whispering sweetly, "_Sev_..." Severus looked up just in time to see a flushed faced, tanned young man collapse onto his chest. Staggering slightly with suprise, then satisfaction, as he realized who was gently snaking their arms around his darkly clothed shoulders, plunging a palm into his loose hair, and planting a sweet kiss on his lips, Severus pulled away reluctantly. He burrowed his nose into Harry's soft skin lovingly, feeling his lover smile into his ears and his slender, youthful legs winding themselves around his waist.

"What took you so long?" Harry whispered breathlessly, taking time to roll a careful tongue along the firm cartilage of Snape's ear.

"Merely reminiscing, Potter..."

"I bet I know what about, Sev, I have my reasons for choosing this special area."

Severus did not answer, but rather positioned his head to stare at Harry for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, and the stoic set of his piercing gaze was timeless. He shifted to sit the two down at the roots of the tree, Harry sitting back, coyly on his lap. Snape ran a pale hand on the tanned flesh of his lover, windblown and cool with goosebumps, a rouge flush at the heighth of Harry's cheekbones. Vivid green eyes stared in wonder as Severus took off Harry's glasses, and gently set them on the side of the trunk, and he leaned upward to the beautiful young man sitting wantonly, and kissed Harry, who melted into the soft caress of the pale man's tongue probing his.

What happened next erased the pain of that tree, and as twlight set in, Snape's Best Memory was forged.


	2. Intrusion

Warning: Slash, Mild Violence.

Disclaimer: Yaddayaddayadda, so JKR is a genius, and all of the characters are hers, and I own nothing except for these far fetched plots...

A/N: Don't ask me how Ron got in...you'd think that two passionate wizards who have many secrets to hide, not to mention the fact that they're supposed to hate each other would charm the frizzeaking door, you dig? Apaprently, they have a lot of bagge to cast off...

2. Intrusion.

Ron had undoubtedly thought he had gone starking mad as he stood stupidly in the doorway of the potions classroom, ears alfame, roaring red as he clamped his hold on the door. At first, he had thought Malfoy hexed him to display a sick screen of Harry Potter and Severus Snape in the midst of a heinous sex act, not fit for any eye. He could almost believe Malfoy was sick enough himself to continously think about certain positions all day. He steadfastly refused to believe the scene in front of him was taking place, and instead concentrated on remembering his name to distract himself, pretend he was less mental than what he thought he was. _My name is Ronald Weasley, My name is Ronald Weasley, I am seventeen years old, I have a beautiful Gryffindor as my girlfriend, My name is Ronald Weasley, my best mate is Harry Potter, he's a perfectly nice guy who snogs and shags blokes, I'm fine with with that, My name is Ronald Weasley, who is NOT in fact, which my best mate screw our most loathed professor, My name is Ronald Weasley, and Snape is a greasy haired git with a monsturous beak of a nose, My name is Ronald Weasley, and my best mate is obviously getting raped, despite the moans of pleasure and harshly spoken words of undying love for Professor Snape, hideously ugly...My name is Ronald Weasley and I am FUCKING MENTAL._

Harry sprawled wide-legged against the wooden table, moonlight spilling defiantly into the darkened, dungeon room through high barred windows, and illuminating his sweating back, groaning into a long suffering sigh. Snape teased his splitting cock, a smooth, cold thumb adding pressure to his ministrations, and making Harry shiver and tense before melting again into the rough hold on his collarbone. Every hair, every movement of his body was fiercley evident to Harry, his sweat strolled with a mild tickle down his face, dripping from his chin onto the floor while Snape plunged deeply into his tight crevice, this time striking a slippery concave surface, sending Harry into hysterical gasps of pleasure, in a steady crescendo, the sounds of Harry's pleasure sounded sweet in Severus' ears. He leaned down, continuing to lunge mercilessly into Harry, and a generous tongue sipped upon the salty, no-taste of Harry's sweat just under his jaw. Almost lost in his own fun, filling the tight hole, Snape's eyes narrowed, suddenly aware of another, another individual who had been there for quite some time, judging upon the dumbstruck look upon the figure's face. It took someone a smart minute to get used to the dark shadows of his dungeon area, even before they lit their wands with a lighting spell. But he had just barely acknowledged this in itself, considering his eyes were heavy lidded with passion, and his mind blissfully devoid of nothing but the sweet act he was participating in, but nonetheless, his motions slowed as he saw the figure stalk closer, and realized, dimly, he was fucked. He quickly pulled on his dark cloak,

Harry hadn't registered anything in his surroundings except for his own body, blindly pushing him to the lengths of his pleasure, except the continuous movement had slowed considerably, and Harry allowed himself to look up and around, in search of Snape's missing mouth, and abscence on his cock, as well as the general _fuck_. His throat was simply too dry to do anything by gasp, when he saw the moonlight cast a glow on the approaching figure to reveal...red hair.

"_Harry!_" Ron growled angrily, "Snape, get your greasy fucking paws off of Harry!" Without further ado, the strong body Ron had grown into grabbed Severus' naked body, and forced him roughly out of Harry, causing a sickeningly wet sound to occur. The sound merely disgusted Ron further.

"Ron! What in the hell are you doing?" Harry yelled throatily, and immediately cursed, caressing his neck in pain.

Ron proved to be quite a formidable young man when he faced Harry, a pained grimace on his face visible in the dark room. "He was hurting you! Harry, what have you gotten yourself into?"

Ron held Severus' wriggling body against his cloak, a strong arm around the pale man's throat, while Snape clawed numbly at the obstruction blocking his airway, finally bucking his dark head back, colliding with Ron's face, effectively loosening the Weasley's grip. Snape slithered just under Ron's grasp as the Weasel's grimace of emotional pain became actual pain. Harry ran forward and caught Snape's staggering figure, pulling his wand out of the pile of robes left carelessly upon the floor. Snape merely pulled away from Harry's grip, and stood protectively in front of his lover's smaller frame, whispering _Accio Severus Snape's Wand! _

A palm on his forehead, Ron asked brokenly, "Why him? He's a fucking monster!"

"I love him, Ron, can't you accept that?" Harry whispered sadly from behind Snape's protective stance.

"I can't --"

"_Obliviate._" Severus cast the Memory Charm swiftly, wiping the Weasel's memory of the encounter with himself and Harry, he could see the noticable gleam of anger disappear from Ron''s eyes and murmured, "Ronald Weasley, you have just stopped by to accompany Harry Potter back to the Gryffindor common room." The Weasel merely nodded, Sanpe breaking the connection, he whispered to Harry, almost inaudibly, "I love you. Take him, now." And walked briskly toward his quarters connected to the dungeon classroom, leaving Harry speechless, in search for his wardrobe.

--

Snape performed a quick Locking spell upon his door, and proceeded toward his Pensieve, a familar mass of silvery substance greeted him with Harry's face, but Snape shut his eyes. The wand he held tightly in his hand raised toward his temple, drawing out another silvery wisp, despositing the wisp into the swirling Pensieve.

THE DAILY PROPHET: **Ministry Official Arthur Weasley Murdered in Death Eater Attack at Ministry of Magic**

Severus Snape sighed as the image swirled into a fractured collage of images, the elder Weasley's tortured body on the floor.

**Kill him, Severus.**

_Yes, my Lord._


	3. Filch Attacks!

**Title: Attack of the Scary Caretaker.  
Rating:** R  
**Pairing:** Harry/Severus -- Harry/Filch  
**Summary:** Harry gets a detention, and Filch fully intends to take advantage of their secluded situation.  
**Warnings:** A little OOC, I believe, Attempted Rape, Explicit Appendages.

**A/N:** 1. I've decided to include the above warnings and summary, just because some people come across these stories by default and don't...nessesarily prefer the situation.

2. I have no idea what Snape's office would be like, but I do think that he would value privacy and would have something equivalent to the Gryffindor portrait with a password. Behold, his sleeping gargoyle-type thing.

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Harry Potter mentally cursed himself for landing himself in detention once again. This time it was not because of Snape, the actual source of his overwhelming detention attendance, but of Professor McGonagall, and of course, the _ever_ present Malfoy. The silly rivalry was apparently taking its toll on Harry, swiping a dirty rag at the trophies with inceasing spite, always being goaded into attack to defend a friend. Hermione always seemed to be a sore subject with Malfoy, considering she was a Mudblood, and what was to be sure that when Malfoy snidely sprouted generic insults, Potter and Weasley would undoubtedly lose their tempers. Not that Ron wasn't of help, but his red-haired friend had even less control than he _himself,_ did, losing an introlerable amount of points because of a simple scuffle, and then _arguing_ about the incident. All in all, Gryffindor managed to lose thirty house points within that afternoon, (on both of the friends part, Ron protested, and the amount of rubies depleted from the Gryffindor hour glass simply grew). The Slytherin house lost only five for language. Ron, Harry, and Draco all had consecutive detentions. Harry attended his first, Ron's the next night, and Malfoy's the third.

Inwardly, Harry groaned at the sight of the trophies to come, dozens stacked up neatly over the others. Briefly, he thanked the Dursley's. At least he was used to this sort of work with the Dursley's, his hands rough and calloused despite his young age when they put him out in the garden, sweeping, mopping, cooking, and the basis of slave work was enstilled within him. He merely palmed his hair of dust, and set to shining more trophies with a foul smelling clear polish. He bent over, crawling toward a Shield Charm-ed glass crate, filled with -- more trophies. Harry paused, contemplating why Hogwarts still kept these ancient trophies if they never displayed but a select few. He supposed it just might be a Filch thing; harbouring trophies in order to subject students to five hours of boredom. Harry thought it might have gotten worse, especially after the ban of _physical_ punishment, Filch would have done anything to take his anger out on the innocent children. Hence, his detention.

Harry slid the crate toward him, his bum in the air, when a cold, gnarly hand came to seize a clump of Harry's tousled black hair. He stiffened involuntarily, shivering at the long finger-nailed appendage slicing at his scalp, and quickly regaining his senses, tried to stand. A hand shoved him back into his crawling position, his hands cold on the frigid concrete of the cupboard. He felt a body press solidly against his own, a disgustingly bony body, if the feel of the person's hands were indication enough. Tattered, mouldy robes dangled to his side, making him sneeze, his nose recoiling in fright at the stench. The hand snapped Harry's head to the side, exposing his tanned neck. Moist breath sighed at the base of his throat, planting a wet kiss near his jugular vein. Harry shuddered, but chanced a glance toward his captor. In the dim light, he could make out a severely mottled, aged face, a _male_ face, and tendrils of brown hair snaking from his temple. Oh dear. It was Filch. _Fuck...fuck no._

"I think I've caught Mr. Potter in a bit of a com-_pro_-mising position!" Filch's rusty voice cackled madly in his ear, his less than pleasant cockney accent laying emphasis on his name and the word 'compromising'. Not a second after Harry breeched the realisation that this was in fact Argus Filch, he struggled violently against the seemingly eroded, but strong body. Filch's fingers slid momentarily from Harry's scalp to the base of Harry's neck, where he had kissed him, and tilted Harry's squirming head upward. Filch brutally attacked his lips predatorily, mouths scraping against mouths while Harry's vivid eyes widened in horror. The caretaker's body moved rhythmically against Harry's own, purposefully grinding his crotch against his unwilling young student, groans of pleasure escaping in guttural tones. Harry didn't need to reason with him, he just wanted the caretaker _off_. Harry quickly let his legs give out in a form of submission, Filch's body tensing slightly, almost using Harry to break his fall. He ruthlessly shoved an elbow into the dimple of the caretaker's neck, causing the caretaker to relieve his weight on Harry's back and bum. He staggered to stand, digging furiously through his Gryffindor robes to point his wand threateningly at Filch. A sneer of disgust tainted his features. Ignoring the ancient hand snatching desperately at his robes, Harry delieved a swift kick to the caretaker's head.

Harry was to angry to think properly, let alone cast a spell. In habit of his obviously muggle characteristics, he resorted to rather physically marring ways to hurt Filch, oblivious to the cackle of laughter that came from below him. "Methinks Mr. Potter could benefit from being hung by his ickle tosey-woseys!"

And then, Harry Potter ran madly through the corridors, sweating and furious, carreening dangerously down the moving marble staircases, spitting and cursing Filch's name. He had not realised that were he led himself was that of Severus Snape's office. Breathing hard, he didn't nessesarily disagree with his subconsious descision. Going to the Gryffindor Common room and gathering Ron and Hermione to speak about his plight didn't make any sense, and would more than likely embarass him, nor could he go to McGonagall, too vicious and impersonal to really confess to. His body shivering with adrenaline, he confronted the stone face of the carved gargoyle (which was not all that frightning in retrospect, it merely favored a slightly more formidable looking house-elf) in Snape's door, knocking vigorously on its sleeping face. The gargoyle stirred and wrinkled its ugly nose in irritation.

"**Password?**"

"_Exempli gratia_." Harry murmured.

"**Exactly**." The gargoyle said in a deep baritone.

The door did not open, but rather slid sideways, all the while decomposing itself rapidly for Harry's body to slip through before the door built itself once again. Harry merely stood there, gazing at Severus' composed Slytherin mask hiding his suprise with the cock of an eyebrow. He pushed himself up from his sitting chair, lined with plush forest green, his palms flat on his office table. "Mr. Potter, what are you --" Snape stopped, rising from his chair in concern of Harry's flushed face and tense and twitching body.

"Filch attacked me."

Harry strode toward his lover's desk, his lovely green eyes hazy, as Severus' cocked another eyebrow in question.

"He did what?" Snape asked incredulously.

Potter did not reply as he climbed onto the sturdy wooden work area, gently moving stacks of parchment to the floor, until the desk was clean of any offending material. His slender arms slid out and touched Snape's shoulder's, pushing him down into his chair. Snape's eyes were wide, and rapt with attention. Harry enjoyed this effect he had on him. Strangely enough, he did not feel guilty of Filch's attempts as he reached into the Potion Master's mane of hair, but he did feel rather _dirty_. More like he needed a bath more than anything, to get rid of the smell, and the body of his lover to replace the animalistic grinding and kisses. The notion telling him to set his robes on fire did not seem strange, either. He could erase the touch, all he needed was a little help.

"We need to fuck." Harry replied breathlessly.

And that, they did.

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Come on, Review? Pleeeassse?


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